


Convalescent Boy (with a Heart of Gold)

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (I listed Harry as a character but Harry is actually marcel they ARE THE SAME PERSON BE WARNED), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Fluff, M/M, Theatre, im sorry this is a university au thats all it is, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 05:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14302071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Just as the professor beginning to mess with his powerpoint, the door at the back of the balcony creaks open and Marcel looks back to notice Louis Tomlinson,TheLouis Tomlinson, slip in and take a seat in the very back.Marcel is starting to feel like his life is a comedy. Only yesterday was Louis Tomlinson on his floor at the library. Now he’s in his seminar. What is happening?“Hey Mars,” Nick says, not particularly quietly as he leans over. “Isn’t that your crush?”Marcel smacks him.Or, the one where Marcel is a nerd who loves to learn but loves to go to theatre productions even more, and may or may not have a long time crush on the lead in most of the plays, Louis Tomlinson. The same Louis Tomlinson who seems to be appearing wherever Marcel is. Funny, that.





	Convalescent Boy (with a Heart of Gold)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obviouslouis (HazzaTheFluffball)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazzaTheFluffball/gifts).



> Hazzathefluffball, I'm so sorry you're getting this so late and I so hope you like it anyway! Please enjoy. All the love. xx

The fog is thick in the morning air as Marcel slogs his way across campus. Every other step seems to end up with one foot in a puddle, the uneven pavement collecting days worth of rainwater and redistributing it straight to his socks.

It’s chilly enough he really should have grabbed his cardigan - the brown wool one that’s hanging next to the door of his dorm room - but he was in a hurry this morning because he’d woken up to an email from his professor about the rough draft he had sent for her to look over; she had disagreed with about every aspect of it - veritably torn it apart honestly - so now he’s in a rush to get to the library and start from scratch so that he can write a new thesis before his first class at ten.

His glasses keep collecting condensation from the sheer moisture in the air and it feels overall sort of… icky. Marcel has always been a fan of mornings, but today is making him wish he was phone-sized so he could go bury himself in a bag of rice and get all this icky  _ wetness _ off of him. 

The library’s imposing front entrance looms over him as he huffs and puffs his way up the stone steps, hurrying to get out of the moist outside. He has to take a moment near the top to catch his breath, even though he’s been making this same trip almost daily for three years now, and he spends a moment considering whether or not to grab his inhaler. 

Nah. 

The last set of steps he takes at a more reasonable speed, and at the top he grabs his ID out of his back pocket - and knocks a number of other cards out, having to lean over and scramble to get them picked up before they become soaked by the puddles - and swipes it to get the doors to unlock for him. 

Inside the library, he breathes a sigh of relief. It’s just as cold - he definitely should have grabbed that cardigan - but it feels marginally drier, and there’s a fan going as if that’ll help dissipate the moisture that attempts to slip inside with every open of the doors.

He gives a smile to the student sitting at the security desk - Zayn, by his nametag, who seems to  _ always _ be there no matter when Marcel comes - and steps past into the cavernous foyer of the library. He used to try to get Zayn to talk, but he knows better now. The less he interacts with Zayn, the happier Zayn ends up looking. Or at least, the more blank-faced and less angry. 

The glass walls rise up in front of him, showcasing floor upon floor upon floor of books, new and old, each of them holding information that’s important to someone.

Marcel loves the library.

He heads straight to the lift and presses the button for the seventh floor. It’s right in the heart of the stacks and he rarely finds anyone else up there,  _ especially _ not this early in the morning. Riding the clackety old thing up, he yawns into his fist and considers grabbing some tea. Maybe as a reward for five hundred words written he can take a trip down to the hip and trendy cafe on the ground floor where everything has smooth white surfaces and plant cuttings in repurposed vases.

The doors open onto the seventh floor, and the unique smell of the library hits him; central air and old books and something else that only this library has ever smelled like. He steps out and immediately notices that he’s not alone. 

There, sitting at one of the two group tables near the lifts, is Louis Tomlinson.

Louis Tomlinson, drama major and veritable head of the drama department. Louis Tomlinson, who has starred in every play that the drama department has put on since Marcel started going to this university. He’s a head shorter than all of the other guys who generally get cast in the main leads with him, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in pure charisma.

While he would deny it to anyone who asked (except Nick, because Nick knows him too well), Marcel has gone to every play that the university has put on. Many of them, multiple times. The tickets are all stored in the back of his planner, where they constantly fall out and he has to scramble to pick them up again. It’s a hazard.

But, Marcel has never seen Louis in the library before. Especially not at seven in the morning. He doesn’t strike him as a seven in the morning sort of person.

Carefully, Marcel steps around to the outside of the stacks where the individual desks are. He chances another glance back in Louis’s direction. He’s bent so far over a stack of notes that his nose is mere inches from touching the paper clutched in his hands. He’s wearing thick framed black glasses that Marcel has never seen before (but they  _ certainly _ look… quite nice on him), and he’s got a horrible frown on his face.

Suddenly Louis shifts, straightening up and stretching and making Marcel jump, his shoulder bumping into the edge of a bookshelf and throwing him off balance. _This_ _is why everyone thinks you’re odd,_ he thinks to himself, only just grabbing his satchel as it slips off his shoulder He turns before he can find out whether he’s drawn attention to himself. _Concentrate. You’ve got a paper to fix. Never mind that the fittest boy on campus is in the_ library.

He finds a desk far enough away that louis is no longer in his line of sight and takes his laptop out of his bag, opening it up and clicking on his picture (password-free, because who would bother to break into his laptop?). Then, immediately slamming it closed as it opens to the last window he had up - buying tickets to the university’s production of  _ Marat Saad. _

_ Be normal, _ he chastises himself, opening the laptop again after taking another deep breath.  _ He is not a celebrity. He is a student. You are also a student. Stop being… like this. _

He opens his laptop again, carefully, and exits out of the page. He has a paper to work on. He does not have time to be distracted by boys.

— 

Marcel has five classes this semester. Of those classes, two of them are three days a week, and two of them are two days a week. One of them is a ridiculously long seminar class every Friday. It’s in the auditorium at the north edge of campus and almost nobody ever shows up because the lectures are all put online the following week. Marcel rather wonders if the professor does that in the hopes that eventually no one will show up. He wonders if it’s all a grand social experiment.

Today he’s sitting in the balcony (because the auditorium is the old drama centre, and it’s built like an opera house), and there’s barely thirty people here on both floors put together. He’s put his satchel and stack of books on the chair next to him and he’s leaning over the railing of the balcony, gazing at the few students down below him as he waits for the professor to appear.

That’s the other thing. Every week the professor is a little later. This is almost definitely a social experiment.

“Mars!” 

Marcel jumps, slamming his head directly into the railing. “Oh my lanta,” he says, clutching his head. 

“Whoops,” says a horribly familiar voice next to him. Marcel turns and glances up.

“Why would you do that, Grimmy?” he whines. “You know how jumpy I am!”

“That’s exactly why I do it,” Nick says, taking a seat next to him and immediately spreading out, plopping his bag on the floor and stretching his legs over the edge of the railing. “You’re too hilarious, Mars,” he says. “Who else would show up for a class like this where they don’t even take attendance?” 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Marcel grumbles.

“I’m here because I find it easier to get my homework done while actively ignoring a professor,” Nick says, a grin spreading over his features. “What’s your excuse?”

“University is one of the shortest time periods in our life and i intend to learn as much as I can before I’m thrust into the brutal world of adults,” Marcel says. He’s said this to Nick many times. 

“Right,” says Nick. “Anyway. I’ll be working on my Russian lit paper. Let me know if he says anything interesting.”

He pulls a tablet out of his bag along with an old fashioned thermos. Marcel watches with morbid interest as he uncaps the thermos and then uses the cap as a teacup, pouring steaming hot coffee into it and sipping daintily. Nick once told him that he likes to pretend he lives in the fifties. Marcel had told him that the world would not have been kind to him. Nick had elegantly sipped his white wine and walked away.

Finally the professor appears, walking onstage with all the nonchalance of someone who isn’t fifteen minutes late to his own class. Just as he’s beginning to mess with his powerpoint, the door at the back of the balcony creaks open and Marcel looks back to notice Louis Tomlinson,  _ The Louis Tomlinson, _ slip in and take a seat in the very back. 

There’s only one other person on the balcony between Marcel, Nick and Louis and she seems to be taking a nap.

Marcel is starting to feel like his life is a comedy. Only yesterday was Louis Tomlinson on his floor at the library. Now he’s in his seminar. What is happening?

He turns back to the professor, who is beginning to trundle his way through a short history of use of gender in mythology. It’s a fascinating course but suddenly Marcel can’t concentrate. When he bumped his head on the railing, did it mess up his hair? He runs one hand over it nervously, making sure it’s all smooth and back as it should be. 

“Hey Mars,” Nick says, not particularly quietly as he leans over. “Isn’t that your crush?”

Marcel smacks him.

Nick spills his coffee. 

There are no winners here.

— 

The thing is, is the name on Marcel’s student ID reads Harry Styles.

That’s not Marcel’s name.

On Orientation Day, when every fresh-faced new student on campus had to get their student ID pictures taken as part of their walk-through of campus life, Marcel had shown up late. 

Everyone else had arrived bright and early at 9am, which was when move-in had officially started for the dormitories. Marcel, unfortunately, hadn’t arrived for another four hours. His mum had rented a van (that Marcel had insisted he didn’t need) in order to pile all of his stuff comfortably into the back. They had gotten it all packed up the night before, ready and waiting to start off first thing in the morning, only to find that it didn’t actually start up again when they were meant to leave at the bright and early hour of 7am. 

Jumpstarting it hadn’t worked, not that they hadn’t tried for almost half an hour. The company sent them another van after they opened at eight, but that meant having to hastily repack everything into the new van once it finally arrived, and by the time they got on the road (and learned that the new van did  _ not _ have working air con), Orientation Day had already started, very far away from where they were.

So Marcel missed more than half of Orientation Day. It was his worst nightmare. Literally. He’d definitely had nightmares about that over the summer. 

When they finally arrived on campus, most people were already doing tours, having just ended lunch. Marcel was tired, hungry, and his hair was a  _ mess, _ hanging down in sweaty curls that brushed his shoulders. 

The photo ID desk, when they finally found it, had been about to close. Marcel could tell that they were annoyed he had showed up so late, and so they hurried him through everything, the three people working all talking over each other to get his information filled out, his card processed, his picture taken. 

Somewhere in that confusion Marcel had moaned about how  _ hairy _ he was, having tried time and again to get his curls tamed into some sort of dignified style. He hadn’t noticed until looking at it later, after they had rushed him out and turned the lock behind him, that his ID read Harry Styles.  _ Hairy. Harry.  _ He was mortified.

Still, he’d never gone back to get a new one. He didn’t have it in himself to explain the mistake. It would be too humiliating. 

_ Harry Styles. _ What a ridiculous name.

— 

At the end of the lecture, Marcel slowly and carefully packs up his satchel before giving Nick a shove to wake him up. He does all of this very carefully not looking behind himself. He feels like if he looks behind himself and accidentally makes eye contact with Louis, he’s not sure  _ what _ sort of words will come out of his mouth. Something embarrassing, definitely.  _ You were beautiful as Danny in Grease  _ or  _ I loved you in Newsies _ or  _ Can I get an autograph? _

So he waits as Nick snorts awake and then tries to act dignified about it, screwing closed his thermos of un-drunk coffee and gathering up the homework that he did none of. 

By the time Marcel does finally get up and follow Nick to the door, Louis is gone.

— 

Sometimes there’s just not enough time to grab a table at the library for some dedicated study time before class, especially if he has a class out on West Campus in half an hour (Wednesday afternoons, between classes, to be precise). 

The Wednesday after Marcel finds Louis in the back of his lecture, he decides to spend this break in the independent coffee shop next to the lab building. It’s generally a little raucous for his tastes, but Tuesday nights are his all-nighter nights, and he could use a caffeinated pick-me-up.

When he walks in, he finds that the hands of fate are delivering to him yet another slap in the face. The core members of the drama department seem to have gathered together to hold a meeting, taking up the majority of the tables and making enough noise to shatter Marcel’s dreams of getting any actual work done. Even worse, the only member who doesn’t seem to be present is he-who-shall-not-be-named. 

(Not because he’s Voldemort. Just to be clear. Marcel just doesn’t want to dwell on the name Tomlinson while he’s getting work done. It’s very hard to concentrate when Louis has been brought up). 

Still, he’s here, he might as well grab a coffee before he leaves. Or a tea. Is today a tea day? Marcel sniffs the air and considers. It’s only marginally wet outside, so probably a coffee day. Black coffee, with a straw because he’s a mess and doesn’t want yet  _ another _ sweater vest ruined from his inability to drink with grace. 

He draws his handy keepcup out of his satchel (because the environment is  _ important) _ , and goes up to the counter to order a plain coffee, having to repeat himself as the group of drama students behind him raise their voices in some sort of argument (or agreement?) they seem to be having.

Waiting for them to fill his cup, Marcel takes what he hopes is a sneaky glance around the room to make sure. He can see about every major actor from all the university productions, but he’d be able to recognize Louis’s voice (and, well,  _ face) _ anywhere, and he’s definitely not here.

When the coffee is handed over, he carefully puts the lid onto his cup and grabs a straw to poke through the drink opening at the top. It smells delicious, and even though the heat of it burns his tongue, he sips down a third of it before even leaving the counter. 

Pushing his glasses up, Marcel turns to leave. He can’t even make out what everyone is saying, the way they’re all talking over each other, but he assumes it’s about the play that’ll start in about two weeks time. He’s very carefully not looked up the plot of it so that he can be properly drawn in when the time comes.

He figures he can find a spot near his next class - in the hallway outside, maybe - and makes for the door, awkwardly waving his thanks to the coffee shop employees. When he gets to the door, though, he narrowly avoids being smacked in the face with it, jumping out of the way of the heavy wooden doors and only sloshing a little bit of coffee out of the lid of his cup as he does so.

_ “Oh!” _ says a voice on the other side, and oh. 

“Sorry!” Marcel squeaks, holding open the door for Louis to come through. 

“No no, my fault!” Louis says, and  _ oh my lanta Louis is talking. To. Marcel. _

“Um,” says Marcel. “I’ll just-” He awkwardly dances around Louis, tripping over his own feet - “Sorry!” - and flees out the still open door.

On the inside, Marcel is shrivelling. He would like to collapse into a heap under a pile of fall leaves and never be heard from again. Well, he would definitely never be heard from again if that happened because he’s terribly allergic to piles of fall leaves. It would be a swift and puffy death.

_ Carry on, _ he tells himself, forcing his feet to move toward his next class.  _ You don’t have time for this. There are  _ things _ to be learned. _

He definitely spends the rest of the day replaying the interaction in his mind, though. A little more mortified each time.

— 

Marcel’s exhausted. He’s been at the library since his last afternoon class ended at six, and now he’s going to have to hurry to get to his dorm before curfew at eleven when they lock the front doors and he has to ring to be let in. He does  _ not _ want that. 

Still, his feet are dragging along the pavement as he walks. It’s been a long week full of tests and a heavy research paper and he hasn’t gotten a lot of rest because pollen counts are at the highest they’ve been so far this year and allergies can suck his big toe, thank you very much.

His shadow grows and returns in an endless cycle as he walks down the pavement under the orange glow of the lampposts. Crickets harmonize between the clacks of his footsteps, and the wind builds from time to time to say hello through the bushes and branches.

Even as lost as he is in his own head, he picks up on the sound of running footsteps gaining on him. Assuming it’s a jogger or someone else trying to make it in before curfew, he moves to the side to let them pass.

“Hey! Wait up! Hey, Harry!”

Marcel looks around. He recognizes that voice. Louis? But who is he talking to?

“Harry! Hey!” and suddenly that person is  _ right _ in front of him, and yes it is definitely Louis. In the flesh. Two times in one day.

Marcel screeches, his vocal chords making a noise similar to a baby hawk, or possibly a velociraptor. He jumps back, tripping over the uneven cobbles below him. He barely catches himself, and puts a hand to his rabbiting heart

“I’m sorry?” asks Marcel. “I think you’ve got the wrong person?”

Louis frowns. He’s not even breathing heavily. God, he’s so fit. “Do you have a twin?” he asks.

Marcel purses his lips. “No?”

“Because I don’t think there’s a lot of people on campus you could get mistaken for, but I’m pretty sure this student ID says  _ Harry _ on it?” 

Louis reaches into his back pocket and slides out an ID, handing it over to Marcel and sure enough, there’s Marcel’s ID card from orientation day, complete with with wrong name. 

Marcel would like to let out a wailing cry like a banshee and disappear into the night, or possibly ooze onto the cobbles and into a sewer. 

“Um,” he says. “That’s definitely me. How did you-? I just - they got my name wrong?” He takes the card from Louis, scowling for a moment at his picture before pocketing it into the outer pocket of his satchel.

“Think it must have fallen out of your bag at the coffee shop earlier - saw it when I walked inside. They really got your name wrong?”

Marcel hangs his head. “Yeah… But I can’t go change it because I don’t have any other sort of ID to prove it’s not my name. Don’t drive or anything…”

Louis laughs, and Marcel’s face feels hot. It’s not unkind, though, more like a shared joke than laughing at his misfortune. 

“Well what can I call you then?” Louis asks. 

Marcel’s head shoots back up. Louis wants to call him something? Honestly it feels like a miracle and a curse that Louis is still speaking to him. “Marcel?’ he squeaks. “I mean. That’s my name. Marcel.” He runs a hand through his hair and then curses as strands fall loose, being barely held together after a long day’s work. 

“Well Marcel, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Louis says, sticking out a hand. “I’m Louis.”

“I know,” Marcel says, before his insides once again catch on fire.  _ I know? _ That’s probably the creepiest thing he could have said.  _ “I mean! _ Um, I remember your name. From the play last spring. Peter Pan.”

Louis, to Marcel’s shock and wonder, continues to smile at him, his face scrunches a little like he’s trying not to laugh. He’s still holding out his hand. Eventually Marcel notices this important factor and goes to shake it. 

“I’m sure you do,” says Louis. “I know my name gets around, after being in the number of plays I’ve been in I like to think I’m at least a little recognizable.” He sticks his hands in the front pocket of his jumper. “It’s too bad this season will be my last one performing,” he says, his expression dropping. 

Marcel’s eyes go wide.  _ What? _

Just then, the bells begin tolling, signalling 11 o’clock, and marking Marcel’s official lateness.  _ Oh, butternuts. _

The bells seem to spur Louis into action. “Anyway!” he smiles again at Marcel, broadly, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure I’ll see you around! Small campus and all that!”

And he turns and leaves. Just like that. Leaving Marcel speechless, watching him go until he turns a corner and is gone from sight.

— 

“I’m going to do something drastic,” Marcel says to Nick when he arrives for their weekly lunchtime hangout in the cafe at the base of the library, setting his tray of salad and salmon on the table. 

“Finally going to try unpleated trousers?” Nick asks, not looking up from his phone. “I’ve been telling you for years, they’re the way of the future.”

“No not that, I’m not an  _ animal,” _ Marcel says, making a face. “I’m going to talk to Louis.”

That gets Nick to look up. “Are you sick?” he asks.

“No,” says Marcel.

“No terminal illness? This isn’t a bucket list sort of thing?”

“No,” Marcel pouts. “Support me in this, Nick. I need to feel supported.”

“I’m not supporting you until I know you’re not on drugs. Eat any pills you found on the ground lately?”

“You are literally the worst friend ever.” Marcel scowls. He takes a bite of the salmon and notes Nick is, once again, eating only sprouts. The man goes on the weirdest diets. “And that includes Logan, that kid from year eight who spit down my shirt while I was trying to do a push-up in P.E.”

“Yeah, Logan definitely wasn’t a friend,” Nick says. He parts his lips slightly and stares into the camera of his phone. Lunch selfie. “Fine, I’ll support you.  _ Why, _ dear Marcel, are we planning on talking to Louis?”

_ “Because,” _ says Marcel, glad to have Nick’s attention. “He told me last night that he’s not doing any more plays after this run. And that can’t happen, Nick! If I wont see Louis on stage, where  _ will _ I see him?”

“Wait, so you already talked to him? He talked to you? You two were talking? And you  _ didn’t _ immediately text me? I feel very betrayed.”

“It was last night! It wasn’t on  _ pur _ pose! He was returning my ID card!”

“He stole your ID card?”

“No, apparently I dropped it-”

“Isn’t that the ID card that says your name is Harry? How did he find you? Does he think-”

“This is why I don’t tell you things. You’re making my head hurt. I don’t know! I was walking home from the library-”

“Of course you were.”

“-And suddenly he was there!”

“So he was stalking you.”

“No! Shush. We talked for like, a moment. It was nothing. It just kind of happened. But the point is, he can’t quit drama!”

“Because then you can’t keep staring at him?”

“Well- I wouldn’t say  _ staring-” _

“I would.”

“You’re horrible.”

“You’ve got a friend.”

“I’ve- what?”

“Hello Marcel.”

Marcel nearly snaps his neck with how fast he turns his head toward - yep, once again - Louis. “H-hello! Louis!”

“We meet again,” Louis says. He’s grinning and Marcel can’t help but smile back. 

“We do,” he says. “Um, do you want to- I can pull up a chair…?”

He still can’t get over that Louis seems to be purposefully interacting with him. This is probably a weird fever dream. Maybe he  _ is _ sick. 

“I was just leaving, actually,” Nick says, standing and grabbing his bowl of sprouts. “You can take my spot.”

Marcel frowns. “No you were-” 

Nick shoots him a look.  _ Oh! _ This is  _ being sneaky! _ Okay. Marcel can try that. Maybe.

“Thanks,” says Louis, “But I don’t have to! You guys seemed pretty in the middle of something, I wouldn’t want to scare you off or anything.”

“I think there is nothing our dear Mars would like better than for you to sit down and have lunch with him,” Nick says. “Anyway, I have to go powder my nose. Terribly shiny, it is.”

Marcel is going to have to ask Nick later what that means. He wonders if it’s a sex thing.

Louis sits down across from him as Nick walks off, and Marcel suddenly feels very self conscious. What does he say?

“This place is really nice,” Louis says, apparently willing to break the silence. “Have to admit I haven’t been to the library that often, hadn’t ever gone in the cafe before.”

“They’ve got good salmon,” Marcel says, because it’s all he can think of. “And, um. Tea.”

“Tea seemed sort of shit, if I’m honest,” Louis says. “Twinings, honestly. We need some choices for the common man, give us some P.G. Tips or some Yorkshire.”

“I’m rather fond of Twinings, myself,” Marcel argues.”

“You seem like the type to drink herbal,” Louis says, scrunching his face up. “Am I wrong?”

Marcel glances at his travel mug. It’s full of blueberry tea, because he’s drunk enough coffee to overwhelm a small mammal today. “Only on a technicality,” he argues weakly.

_ “Sure,” _ Louis says with a laugh. “I’m not going to trust your opinion though unless I know you’ve got good taste. Herbal is just leaf water.”

_ “All _ tea is just leaf water,” Marcel argues back, frowning. “That’s literally the  _ definition _ of tea.”

“You’re just spouting synonyms and antonyms,” Louis says, waving his hand. “The point is, I’m lucky enough to have brought tea from home, so I’ve been saved a horrible Twinings fate.”

Marcel is still repeating the phrase  _ spouting synonyms and antonyms _ over in his brain. Does Louis know what that means? Is this a saying that’s pop culture at the moment and he just hasn’t heard it?

“Anyway,” Louis continues, and then Marcel is thinking about how that’s the sort of thing Nick would say, and then he’s thinking about how Nick walked off with a bowl of sprouts, and oh  _ yes _ Nick left because Marcel wanted to talk to Louis- and Louis says, “Funny that I’ve seen you around everywhere the last couple days-”

“Why are you quitting the plays?” Marcel interrupts.

Whoops.

“Straight to the point,” Louis says. “Why Marcel, we barely know each other. At least take me out to dinner first!”

Marcel blushes. “I mean- it’s none of my business, of course. Definitely not. I was just wondering- because you were saying last night?”

Marcel smiles that rather sad smile from last night. “Well if I’m to be honest, it’s terribly dramatic and embarrassing, so don’t judge me. Or do it quietly at least.”

“I wouldn’t-” Marcel argues and Louis grins at him.

“Of course you wouldn’t. But it’s still rather embarrassing. See, I’d been dating this guy for quite a while - Sean Bright?”

_ Sean? _ Like, the other surefire lead in every play ever put on by the drama department? “You guys are  _ dating?” _ Marcel squeaks. How did he not know this? Sure, he’s never talked to any of the drama students in his life but he should still have seen it somewhere! 

He blames the fact that Louis doesn’t have his relationship status listed on facebook. 

_ “Were. _ We  _ were _ dating. I broke up with him a few months ago.” Louis sighs. “It just wasn’t a good relationship, you know? He wanted us to be more serious, kept mentioning things like meeting the family and talking about our future, and the more he talked about all that stuff, the more I realised he was ready to take the next step and I just, you know, I wasn’t in love with him?” Louis cringes. “Dunno if I ever was to begin with, but he was clearly in love with me and I felt horrible, felt like I was leading him on.”

Marcel nods, expression serious, captured by what Louis is saying. Also blissed out at the chance to unabashedly stare at him. 

“So I broke up with him. And he hasn’t taken it well.” Louis sighs. “Will barely look at me, actually. And that’s all well and good, because we don’t actually interact much in the play this season, but I don’t think whatever we perform next will be bearable if things go on like this.”

Marcel frowns. That is actually a lot more complicated than he expected. “Aren’t you here for drama, though? Isn’t that why you came to university? Can you still do drama if you’re not in the plays?”

Louis shrugs. “Was thinking about changing my degree, really,” he says. He sounds like he’s trying to sound careless, like it wouldn’t be a big deal, but that’s not at all how it comes out.

“That’s ridiculous,” Marcel blurts out, and then leans back, shocked at his traitorous mouth.

“It- it is?” asks Louis, eyes wide. He also seems shocked by Marcel’s traitorous mouth. 

“I mean-” Marcel gulps. “Isn’t it?” His voice wavers a little but he continues on. “You’ve come to university to study drama, I assume, and you’ve spent over two years performing in every production, and now you’re just going to give it all up, because of a breakup? I-I mean I’ve never been in a relationship myself, so I don’t, um, don’t have any experience there, but I think if you’re going to run away every time a situation gets awkward like that, you’ll have a really hard time, you- y’know?”

He’s staring down at his lap at this point, his ears as hot as the rest of his face (maybe Marcel’s blood circulates  _ too _ well), which may be why he jumps terribly when Louis puts himself facedown on the table and moans.

“I  _ know, _ but  _ Marcel! _ You should  _ see _ him! Anytime he sees me he looks minutes away from breaking into  _ tears! _ I feel  _ terrible!” _

He says a couple more things as well, but it becomes a sort of unintelligible wailing as he wraps his arms around his head.

Marcel is pretty sure the whole cafe is staring at them right now. He tries not to think about it.

Louis quiets down for a moment before saying in a broken voice, “And the absolute worst part is, he still hasn’t given back my DVD of the Cornetto Trilogy.”

Marcel snorts. He can’t help it. He honest to god snorts and then giggles. 

Louis raises his head, looking at Marcel with a pout. “Are you laughing at me?”

“A little,” says Marcel. “Of all the movies to be upset about, I don’t think those would rank high on my list.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “And what, pray tell, would rank above the greatness that is Hot Fuzz?”

Marcel pulls a bit at his collar, self conscious that Louis is staring directly at him. “I mean, Love Actually, for one? Or Titanic?”

“Love Actually…” Louis muses. “I haven’t seen that movie in years. Don’t think I even remember most of it.”

Marcel’s jaw drops. Logically, he knows people don’t watch Love Actually as obsessively as he does. Back when they briefly shared housing over the summer, Nick actually banned Marcel from watching it in the common space because of  _ one time, Nick, just one time _ when he might have watched it three times in one day. What can he say? It’s his comfort movie. He’s got it memorized because he plays it on repeat while he writes papers in his room. 

“I can loan you my copy,” Marcel says, feeling oddly confident. He wonders if Nick spiked his tea before he left; Marcel is never this bold. “It’s much better than the Cornetto Trilogy, I promise.”

Louis laughs at that, a sort of happy sunshine-y giggly sound. “I had no idea you felt so strongly,” he says. “But I actually don’t have a way to play DVDs, so I don’t think that would do much good.”

“You don’t-” Marcel splutters. “Why were you so upset about him taking your DVDs then?”

“It’s the  _ principle of the thing, _ Marcel,” Louis says. Marcel can’t help but notice that Louis uses his name an awful lot. It’s very nice. “Anyway, I’ll have a DVD player at  _ some _ point! And then I want to immediately blast my way through a whirlwind of gruesome but rather light hearted movies.”

He leans forward suddenly, pushing his tray into the middle of the table. “That being said… if  _ you _ have a DVD player, dear Marcel, I wouldn’t be averse to a movie night if you’re ever interested.

Marcel believes he may have lost the power of speech. Permanently. What is  _ happening _ today? Is this all an elaborate fever dream? Is he in a coma?

Apparently Marcel manages to go on staring and not-speaking long enough that Louis becomes uncomfortable, because he begins to backtrack. “I mean - I’m sure you’re busy, you’re studying every time I see you, so I could completely understand if you wanted to turn me down.”

Marcel makes some sort of horrible croak that sounds like a bullfrog emerging from its den in the spring. “Uh- no! No, definitely not! I am absolutely in no way turning you down for that!”

Louis looks hopeful.

“Um, just maybe not tonight? Or this week. Um. I have  a paper due on Monday and I wasn’t planning on sleeping much between now and then.”

Louis looks rather worried.

“Okay,” says Louis. “Give me your phone. I’ll give you my number. Whenever you’re free? Just text.”

Marcel fumbles for his phone and slides it over. 

Louis hands it back. “You’re going to need to unlock it first.”

Marcel’s fingers shake as he unlocks his phone. For Louis Tomlinson to put his number in. He is going to have Louis Tomlinson’s number in his phone.

Louis takes it and spends a long time typing it in. Marcel worries that he’s snooping, but when he hands it back, it’s with all of the unnecessary and useless information filled in, including nickname (“The Tommo”), home phone (probably his parents’ house?), e-mail, and a selfie for the picture.

“Right,” says Marcel. “Thanks. This is- this is good.”

Louis laughs. “Yes it is,” he says. “But I should go - I’ve got a class that started about ten minutes ago that I really should make an appearance to.”

“Oh!” Marcel, having never skipped a day in his life, feels very concerned. “Yes! You definitely should!”

Louis laughs. He stands and gathers his stuff. “I’ll see you sometime in the future, dear Marcel,” he says.

Marcel watches him go. Then immediately calls Nick, because he’s just not sure what else to do.

— 

While it is technically two weeks until Marcel texts Louis for the first time, he does see him around campus quite a few times before that. It’s never long enough to hold an actual conversation like at the cafe in the library, but it’s long enough for Louis to smile and Marcel to convince himself that Louis doesn’t actually hate him and wasn’t just pitying him by giving his number.

The Love Actually viewing party of two is  _ not a date, _ as much as Nick argues otherwise (because Marcel’s heart could  _ not _ take even the  _ idea _ of it being a date, because he is  _ too fragile _ for disappointment). It takes place in Marcel’s room because he has a DVD player and a tiny TV. When Louis arrives, exactly on time, he knocks a very complicated and ongoing knock.

Marcel opens his door in the middle of Louis’s incessant knocking and finds what is likely the greatest gift from the gods on the other side of the door.

Louis is holding a bag of gummy bears in one hand, a ribena in the other, and is wearing the most comfortable soft pajamas Marcel has ever seen.

Or maybe they just look the most comfortable and soft because they’re on Louis.

“Come in, um,” Marcel swings his door open so hard that it hits the night stand behind it. “It’s small! I’m sorry. Should I be in pajamas too? I mean.”

Louis laughs. “I mean, if you wanted! This is just my typical movie night attire. I know you love your sweater vests though, don’t feel the need to change for me.”

Marcel does love his sweater vests. 

Louis walks in far enough to close the door behind him and then looks around, a snooping look on his face. “I sort of figured they would give one of the smartest people on campus a bigger room than the rest of us, but I feel like this might actually be  _ smaller _ than mine!”

Marcel splutters. “I’m- I’m not one of the smartest kids on campus!”

Louis looks at him over his shoulder. “And modest, too,” he says. “I like the decoration, though.”

Marcel isn’t sure if Louis is referring to the Star Wars poster, the Hang In There kitty poster, or the large number of candles littering every available surface. He’s only lit one though (sweater weather) in an attempt to not look like he’s going to attempt a seance.

The room is big enough to comfortably fit a bed and desk, but not a couch, so Marcel has artfully arranged all of the pillows on his bed into as much of a couch shape he could muster. That is, after washing all of his bedding, because he’s not an  _ animal _ and he doesn’t want Louis to think he is either.

The TV, on the small stand across from his bed, is already queued up to the title screen. Marcel was  _ so _ prepared. He even has an escape plan e.g. through the window in case he does something super embarrassing. 

Louis seems very ready to make himself at home, plopping down on Marcel’s bed with his back against the wall. “You coming?” he says, giving Marcel a hopeful smile.

Marcel gulps.

This is not a date, he reminds himself.

— 

This is definitely a Date, with a capital D.

Maybe it didn’t start out as one. Maybe one day Marcel will have the guts to ask Louis if this was his plan all along. 

But for now, he’s watching the Prime Minister go door to door looking for his secretary, and he’s definitely  _ not _ concentrating on the fact that Louis has one ankle hooked around his own. Or that Louis is leaning against his side, and he’s  _ definitely _ not concentrating on the fact that Louis’s hand has slowly snuck its way inside of his own. 

God. What the fuck. He’s definitely concentrating on all of those things. And this is the best moment of his adult life, possibly forever.

“You could be the prime minister if you wanted,” Louis says. He sounds sleepy, his voice coming out rather slow and raspy.

“I absolutely could not,” Marcel argues back immediately. “You need charisma to be elected. I can barely get two sentences out when I’m talking to strangers.”

“We could work on that,” Louis says. The butler is singing  _ Good King Wenceslas _ , which never ceases to make Marcel giggle. This time is no exception. “Besides, I’ve seen the classes you take. They’re all political science and shit, right? You want to do good in the world.”

“I want to learn about how to do good in the world,” Marcel says. “I don’t think I could be, like, the person in charge.” He frowns. “Why were you in those classes, anyway? I saw you that one time you came to balcony in my lecture hall.”

Louis shrugs. His fingers tickle the palm of Marcel’s hand. “Was serious when I said I was thinking about not doing drama. Thought I’d check out what other classes were like.”

Marcel pulls a face. Still, he at least tries to be supportive. “What did you think?”

“Thought I couldn’t understand a word that professor was saying.” Louis sighs. “I dunno. Nothing else seemed like it was for me.”

Marcel thinks carefully about what he wants to say. What he  _ really  _ wants to say is  _ ‘You have to keep doing drama forever because there’s nothing I love more than staring at you while you’re on stage,’ _ but that would probably sound creepy, and also not very convincing. “I think you need to consider whether you actually want to do a different program, or whether you’re just trying to escape that uncomfortable situation,” he says. If there’s one thing Marcel knows, it’s uncomfortable situations. “I mean, I hate public speaking more than anything, but I still needed to take that horrible class on it in my first year, or else I couldn’t have done the rest of the program, you know? Sometimes things suck but it’s for a purpose.”

The nativity play is going on in the movie, complete with whale, octopus and spiderman-King.

Marcel is very carefully not looking in Louis’s direction, and he’s half expecting a telling off, but none comes. Instead, Louis lets out a sigh so mighty that it feels like it contains the weight of the world.

“What if I’m just hurting him, though?” he asks. “I was never properly in love with him, don’t think I even really had a crush on him to begin with, but I do care about the bloke, you know? I don’t want to keep hurting him or whatever.”

Marcel could care less about this man, which he knows is incredibly rude and self-absorbed of him. He feels a little jealous though, even as Louis lightly rests his head on Marcel’s shoulder. 

“I think that’s not on you, you know?” he says. “It’s like, you’ve got a back garden with a tree shedding its leaves, and he’s got a back garden with a tree shedding its leaves, and you’re trying to go over to his garden and rake up his leaves. That’s not your responsibility. You need to tend to your own garden, and let him deal with his own leaves, you know?”

There’s silence then, an awkward one as the curtain rises on the screen and reveals an equally silent audience shocked at their prime minister exchanging spit with his secretary.

Then Louis giggles. “That’s the most ridiculous analogy I’ve ever heard,” he says. “As in, it sounds like something my nan would say.” He giggles some more. “Are you secretly a wise old nan?”

Marcel smiles very widely. So widely his ears move to make room. He squeezes Louis’s hand. “So what if I am?” he says.

Louis turns his head into Marcel’s shoulder and softly bites the material. “Maybe I’d feel a bit less comfortable holding hands with a nan,” he says. “But I think I’m very comfortable holding hands with a genius pretty boy named Marcel.”

— — — 

There is honestly truly completely nothing Marcel regrets more than the fact that he didn’t look up the summary for  _ Marat Sade _ before going to see it.

Mostly because if he had read the summary he could have at least  _ prepared  _ himself a little. For the fact that Louis - who, by the way, Marcel now holds hands with on a  _ daily basis _ and also often gets to _ kiss _ \- is spending the whole play shirtless in a bathtub on center stage.

He seems to have been painted yellow, but it’s still hot.

Also, there’s a lot of other  _ very _ inappropriate things going on in this play. Marcel spends most of it thanking the gods above that he did not invite his sister, who is in town, to see the play his boyfriend is in. There are people getting  _ whipped _ and being very vocal about it. 

Marcel is so extremely uncomfortable and out of his depth but Louis looks beautiful and he concentrates on that. He also rather understand the smirk Louis had been throwing his way earlier when he talked about how excited he was to come tonight.

Regardless, tonight after the play finishes and Louis has hopefully managed to get all the yellow paint off, Louis has promised Marcel a very special night. They’ve planned this perfectly; Marcel has turned in two papers this week and he came directly from the final test from one of his classes, so he has a bit of a break between assignments (which is rare - Louis spends a lot of time lounging on Marcel’s bed as he does homework), and Louis has promised him a night out.

In a hotel.

So, like, Marcel is definitely not freaking out in both excitement and fear about that or anything. 

Then, tomorrow morning they’re supposed to take the train to London for a special exhibit at the British Museum that Louis has heard Marcel going on about countless times and then arranged for them to go to the day before it closed. So. Louis might be his soulmate. Probably. Time will tell.

But also they’re moving in together this summer so they’ve got the time to figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I put sort of a weird ode to Marat Sade in this fic which i totally didnt mean to but fam, if you havent yet googled it you really should. And then imagine the fact that I went to see it for credit for my intro to theater class with my mom and my long-term crush sat on either side of me. 
> 
> [Fic post!!!](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/177813453174/convalescent-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold)


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